


I'd Come Back For You.

by Stuff666



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2018-11-29 17:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11445720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stuff666/pseuds/Stuff666
Summary: (Note: This is set after The Winter Soldier, so the events of Age of Ultron and Civil War haven't happened yet)Steve Rogers' world has just been changed with the realization that his best friend is still alive, though he has no memory of him.Bucky Barnes' world has just been changed by meeting this blond haired man who seemed so familiar, and who the museum says is his best friend, though he has no recollection of him.Finally brought back together, will the two be able to sort through the mess and be friends again, or maybe something more?





	1. Prologue

The last thing Steve remembered before passing out on the riverbank was watching Bucky walk away from him, hearing the sounds of his boots scraping the ground as he walked. He tried to call out to him, but he was too far gone to form words. The next thing he knew, he was lying in a hospital bed with Sam in a chair next to him. No one knew where Bucky was, and no one wanted to look. After all, he was a killer. 

***

Bucky had no clue why he had pulled that man out of the water. Maybe it was because he looked so familiar, or maybe it was because he wanted to rebel against the people who had made him into the monster that was the Winter Soldier. Whatever the reason, that man, Captain America, was alive because of him. He had found some clean clothes, and gone to the museum to find out more about him. He did, finding out that his name was Steve and where and when he served. But he also found out that they were best friends, even if he had no memory of it. He couldn't go find him, because what person in their right mind would want to be friends with the man who tried to kill him? 


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter right away because the first one was so short. I hope you like it!

Steve sighed as he entered his small apartment. He had a headache, and just wanted to take some aspirin and sleep. He wandered into his kitchen, grabbing a glass from a cupboard was just about to fill it with water when someone knocked loudly on his door. He groaned softly, already knowing who it was going to be as he walked over to the door. And, sure enough, there was Tony standing there, leaning against the doorframe.

"Can I help you Mr. Stark?" Steve questions, raising an eyebrow. He knew exactly why Tony would be here at ten at night, but he wanted to hear him say it.

"I need someone to be my wingman tonight. And hey, maybe we can find someone for you." Tony chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows at him. "Be it man or woman, I don't care."

He just sighs, shanking his head slowly. "Not tonight Tony. I have a killer headache." He explains, but for some reason Tony just won't take no for an answer tonight.

"Too bad. Get some nicer clothes on and be ready in ten minutes to go!" He says loudly, and that's when it clicks with Steve that Tony has already had a few drinks. Not enough to make him fully drunk, but enough to make him slightly loopy. He shoves Steve into the apartment, giving him no choice but to go get changed.

Steve exits his bedroom a few minutes later, now dressed in a button down and some dark jeans. He glares at Tony as he looks him up and down, smirking slightly. "Tony, are we leaving or not?" He grumbles, walking quickly over to the door and throwing it open.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be right there." Tony says absentmindedly, looking down at his phone as he walks over and out the door. Steve just sighs. This was going to be a long night.

***

Sure enough, the club Tony took him to was crowded, loud, and definitely not Steve's type of place. Sure, he liked going out, but this was a little too... loud. Or maybe that was the headache talking. He never had gotten to take an aspirin before Tony showed up. Speaking of Tony, where was he? Steve stood up from the small table he was sitting at, looking around the crowded club. It only took him about 30 seconds to find Tony, surrounded by women and extremely drunk. So much for needing a wingman. He just shakes his head, sitting back down and closing his eyes briefly.

When he opens them, he's startled, but pleased, to see a familiar red head sitting across from him. "Hey Nat." He says loudly over the music. "What are you doing here?"

"Tony drunkingly texted me something about how great of a dancer I was and how I needed to be here. So, I tracked his phone, and when I saw you sitting here all sad looking I had to come join you." Natasha says simply, raising an eyebrow. "Why aren't you out on the dance floor? You could be showing them your old grandpa moves." She chuckles.

Steve glares at her. "I don't want to be here, first off. Second, I don't think all those girls would be impressed by my so called 'old grandpa moves'." He shakes his head again, wincing slightly.

"You ok?" Nat asks, noticing his pain.

He waves her concern off. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit of a headache. Stark over there stole me from my house before I could get an aspirin."

Nat purses her lips, standing up smoothly from the table and walking off. She returns a few moments later, dragging a drunk Tony Stark behind her. "Time to go boys." She says, and Tony groans softly.

"But Nattttttttttt." He whines, looking up at her with sad eyes, like he was a little kid. "It's not thaaaat late. I just got hereeeee."

"Tony it's two in the morning. I'm taking you home." Nat fishes around in his pants pocket, pulling out his car keys. "Steve, help me out here." She says, gesturing to Tony.

Steve chuckles, hoisting one of Tony's arms over his shoulder and holding him between him and Nat. They made their way through the bar, Tony calling out drunken greetings to people as they went. When they got outside, he led Nat to where Tony had left the car, and they dumped him in the back seat. He and Nat hopped in the front, and they sped off. "I'm going to drop Tony off that the tower, and then I'll take you back to your place, alright?" She says to Steve, and he nods carefully.

After about ten minutes of uneventful driving, they pull up in front of the Stark Tower. Nat gets out, dragging Tony out of the back and walking him to the tower. Steve watches them exchange a few words, and then Tony stumbles into the tower. Nat get back into the car, and they drive in silence to Steve's apartment.

When they pull up, Nat looks over at him. "Mind if I come in?" She questions, and Steve nods. They get out, and enter the apartment quietly, so they wouldn't wake up the other people living there. Steve unlocks his door, and as soon as he gets in, flops down on the couch. Nat chuckles. "I'll get you some aspirin. You look like you need it."

He nods, and a few minutes later a cold glass of water and an aspirin is being pressed into his hands."Thanks." He mumbles, sitting up and taking it. "I'm sure once that kicks in I'll be feeling much better. Thanks Nat." He smiles, and she bites her lip.

"I didn't just come in here to take care of you. I have something I need to tell you." She takes a deep breath. "You told me to tell you as soon as we heard anything about Bucky, no matter if it was good or bad. Well, this is a mixture of good and bad." She pauses, and Steve looks at her with wide eyes. "The good news is, he was spotted a few blocks from here, doing some shopping at that market you love. The bad news is, he's looking in pretty bad shape. The person who saw him works for Stark, so he reported back to him about it. He also took these." She hold out some pictures, and Steve takes them.

As he flips through them, he almost wants to cry. Most of the pictures aren't great, but there's a few of his face that show just how bad he's doing. His cheeks are hollow, like he hasn't eaten in a few days, maybe weeks, and there are darker than normal shadows under his eyes. His hair was longer than when Steve had last seen him, and looked pretty greasy. He almost didn't look like Bucky anymore.

He looked back up at Nat. "Do you," he paused, clearing his throat, "Do you know where he is now?" He asks, and he winces at how weak his voice sounds.

She hesitates. "Yes, but I'm not supposed to say. Fury's worried that you'll run off after him and risk your life. After all, he is a killer Steve." She says gently, reaching across the small coffee table to rest her hand on his knee. "He's not the Bucky you grew up with anymore."

Steve nods slowly. "True, but I'm not the same Steve either. Just tell me where he is Nat. Please."

She sighs. "Fine. But if Fury gets you in shit, don't blame me." She says, then names off an abandoned apartment building three blocks away. "We don't know if he knows this is where you are, and that's why he picked there, or if it's just coincidence, but that's where he is."

"Thank you Nat." He nods, standing up and walking to the door.

"Wait, are you going tonight?" She asks sharply, standing up to join him.

"Why not? Now that I know where he is?  I might as well go see him now. Beats sitting here and doing nothing." He points out.

"Fine. But I'm going with you. You'll want backup in case he flips out at you like last time." She says, and Steve agrees. They exit the building, choosing to walk instead of drive over. It only takes them five minutes to walk the three blocks, and soon Steve is standing outside of a sad looking building.

"He's really in there?" He says in disbelief, looking over at Nat with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes. Top floor, room 336." She smiles slightly, and Steve walks forward. "I'll wait on the floor below you. Just yell and I'll be there." He nods, and they walk up the stairs together. She stops at the second floor, and he continues up one last flight of stairs.

Steve walks down the hallway, looking at the numbered doors as he goes. 330, 332, 334, _336_. He stops in front of it, taking a deep breath. He was going to get to see Bucky after four months of not knowing where he was or if he was okay. He reaches out, testing the door knob and smiling when it's unlocked. He opens the door, stepping into the apartment and coming face to face with a nearly unrecognizable, but oh-so-familiar face.

"Bucky?"


	3. Chapter Two

Steve stands there for a moment, staring at the man before him in shock. He hadn't expected it to be this easy, finding him. But who knows? Maybe the fates were being kind to him for once.

  
Bucky's face was blank, though Steve could swear there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. It was faint, but he could see something register there. The pictures Nat had shown him had downplayed the way Bucky looked, and Steve felt his heart break at just how terrible he looked.  
He took a step towards the man, hand slightly outstretched. "Bucky?" He whispered again, not wanting to startle him too much. "Buck, it's me, Steve. Remember me?" His voice was soft, as if talking to a scared child.

  
Bucky looked at him strangely, as if trying to place where he knew his face. "I remember pulling you out of the river. I remember you were my mission, and now because of you I don't have a proper place to go. Because I let you live, I am being hunted by my own makers, and I have no fucking clue who I am anymore." His voice had started out angry and bitter, but by the end had just sounded a little lost, and had made Steve's heart break more. Here was his best friend, his Bucky, saying he didn't know who he was.

  
"Bucky, just come with me. I can help." He said, voice still low, hand still outstretched. He was aware of the silence of the building, aware that Nat was probably wondering what was happening.

  
Bucky just shook his head, backing up a step. "Please, just leave me be. You've caused enough problems in my life. I don't even know who you are." He turned his back on Steve, effectively shutting him out.

  
Steve pulled a slip of paper out of his pants pocket, crouching down and placing it on the floor. He then took one look at Bucky's back before turning and walking out the door, letting it close behind him with a soft click. He paused once outside of the door, leaning heavily on the dirty wall. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. There was supposed to be a happy reunion, maybe a few happy tears that would be quickly wiped away because they hated crying in front of each other.

  
Shaking his head, Steve pushed off from the wall and stalked down the stairs, brushing past Natasha as he passed her, ignoring her questions. He practically ran out onto the street, basically running all the way back to his apartment. He slammed his door open, now not caring about the other people who lived there and were most likely sleeping at this hour in the morning. Steve looked wildly around the small apartment, eyes landing on the small picture frame with an image of him and Bucky in it from when they were just little kids. He picked it up, smiling slightly at the image of his tiny younger self standing next to the larger form of Bucky, before throwing it across the room to shatter against a wall. He found another frame, this time one of him and Stark, and proceeded to throw that wildly across the room too.

  
Just as he was about to start smashing furniture, he felt two arms wrap around his waist. Startled, he lashed out connecting with the person's body. They let out a feminine grunt, Steve realized that it was Natasha. He pulled away from her, breathing heavily. She reached up and wiped something off his face, and it was then he realized he was crying, something he hadn't done in a very long time. "What happened?" She asked, guiding him to the couch, where he sank into the welcoming cushions. "Tell me what happened. Please."

  
"He doesn't know me Nat. He wants nothing to do with me, he said it himself. He said I ruined his life. I just want my best friend back." He starts to cry more heavily than, tears coming faster than he can wipe them away. Natasha sits on the couch beside him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling his larger body close. He sobs gently into her shoulder, and she begins to hum something that sounds like a lullaby, though nothing Steve recognizes from his childhood, and before he knows it he had passed out in her arms.

  
***

  
_A breeze tickling his face, a pair of warm arms wrapped around his thin body, a kiss pressed against his cheek. This was a happy moment, stolen away from prying eyes and judging glares. They were happy, tucked away in a small corner of the park where no one could see them and yell slurs their way. He was happy, as long as those warm arms stayed exactly where they were, and as long as time stayed as frozen as it was in that moment forever._

  
Steve woke from the dream with tears running down his face. He was in his bed, blankets pulled up over his body. Natasha must have moved him there after he fell asleep. He sat up, scrubbing at his tear swollen eyes with both hands, Seeing Bucky last night had shaken loose memories he had kept squished down for years, not wanting to think about them when he had no chance to see Bucky again. But now that he had that chance again, all the happy moments were coming back to him and taking up both his waking and sleeping thoughts.

  
Stumbling from his small bed room, Steve walks slowly into his kitchen, pulling down a glass and filling it with water before going back to his room. He sinks into the bed, sitting there staring at the wall as he thought about what to do next. He could go back and try to talk to Bucky again, but he had probably moved to a new spot now that he knew it was compromised. He hoped Bucky had noticed the little slip of paper Steve had left, containing his phone number and address, which was a risky move. If Bucky really was as mad at Steve as he said, then he could easily break into the small apartment and kill him in his sleep. But he had a gut feeling that wouldn't happen, at least not yet. Bucky probably wanted some answers to everything, and Steve was hoping that he could answer some of those questions. Now all he had to do was hope that Bucky came to him, because who knows when Steve would have another chance to find him again.

  
~~~

  
Bucky Barnes stared at the small slip of paper that was sitting on the floor in front of him. The man - Steve - had left it there when he had left, and he had been staring at it for three hours now. Half of him wanted to grab it, see what was written there, while the other half wanted to walk away from it and never think about the man again.  
The first half won.

  
Walking forward, Bucky bent down and scooped up the small slip of paper. Unfolding it, he saw a phone number scribbled over top an address only a few blocks from where he was now. Written underneath were the words **‘If you have questions, contact me’**. Bucky was bewildered by Steve's stupidity in leaving this with him. What if he had left the paper here, and Hydra had come in after him and found it? They wanted nothing more then to see Captain America dead, and here was a slip of paper with ways to contact him on it. He let out a shaky sigh, shoving the paper into his pocket before gathering the few small possessions he owned and putting them into a small backpack he had stolen a few days ago. He felt bad stealing, but seeing as he had no money it was the only thing he could do. He looked around the room once more before slinging the bag over his shoulder and walking out the door.

  
Bucky looked around carefully as he left the building, hoping that no one was waiting there to ambush him or something like that. He was too weak right now to win a fight with someone, as a result of not eating well for weeks. That's what happens when you're homeless and scary looking. He had taken to wearing only long sleeve shirts and gloves, so that people couldn't see his metal arm. However, that made people suspicious as it was the middle of summer and extremely hot out. So begging for food or money was out of the question. He had tried, and no one had given him anything. So he had turned to stealing what he could, which wasn't much. Stores had much better security now than they did when he was younger. Cameras and people everywhere made it quite difficult to do anything.

  
Luckily no one was there when he left, so he began to carefully pick his way down the street in the soft pre-dawn light. Pulling out the piece of paper, Bucky began to go in the direction of Steve's apartment, making up his mind that he wouldn't actually go in to see him, but just see where it was so he would know where it was for future reference. Sure, that might seem a little stalkerish, but Bucky had the slightest feeling that Steve was very important to him, and that feeling was making him do this. Did it make sense? No. Was he going to follow it anyway? Yes. and maybe, just maybe, he'd get some answers to his questions about his past.


	4. Chapter Three

The apartment building Bucky found himself standing outside of was small, with only about 20 homes in the whole building. He was slightly surprised, as he figured that the Avengers would have better living places than this small place near a run-down part of town. But who knows, maybe they don't get paid a whole lot.

As he stood looking up at the building, an expensive looking car rolled to a stop in front of him. He backed up quickly, sinking into the shadows of a tree nearby. The man who got out was well dressed, with dark hair and nicely groomed facial hair. The man quickly walked across the street, disappearing into the building. He returned a few moments later, this time with Steve trailing behind him. As they neared the car, the man opened the passenger door for Steve, and Bucky felt a strange twinge of jealously. Who was that guy, and why was he looking at Steve like that? And why did he feel this way? He barely knew Steve. Maybe he did once, but not anymore. But for some reason he felt like he should be the one looking at him like that, not someone else.

Bucky watched as they drove away before walking across the street and entering the apartment building.

~~~

Steve leaned back against the seat of Tony's car, letting out a soft sigh at the feeling of the warm leather against his back. He saw Tony watching him out of the corner of his eye, and he smiled. "I will always love leather seating on a car, no matter what the season." He said softly, glancing over at him.

Tony smiled at his words. "I always get leather seats. Partially because they look good, but also I like the best money can buy and that's what leather is."

"Of course you would Tony." He shakes his head. "So what do you have in store for me today Mr. Stark?" Tony had gotten into the habit of picking Steve up almost every day and taking him out to do something, saying every time that Steve needed to get out more and see the world of today. Often times that meant going to see a new movie, or just walking around New York looking at everything. They had even gone to a laser tag place, and Steve had got his ass kicked. He was still pretty sure Tony has used his own tech to beat him, as Steve was good with a gun and still got his ass kicked.

"I was thinking something simple, after last night. Nat told me you weren't feeling all that great after you left the club, so I figured something nice, like a picnic." Tony shrugged. "It's not really my thing, but I figured you'd like it."

Steve smiled. "That does sound nice Tony. Thank you." This new, nice side of Tony had been coming out a lot more these days, and Steve liked it. It made him easier to be around, and Steve realized that he liked being around Tony, and he now considered him one of his best friends. No one person could ever fill the hole that Bucky had left in his heart, but between Tony, Nat, and Sam, he felt like it was close to being filled. None of them were a replacement for him, but they made him happy, and Bucky would've wanted that for him, right?

***

Steve and Tony spent hours just sitting and talking and eating underneath a large oak tree in a little park Tony had found. He had prepared a really nice lunch for them that Steve was pretty sure he had either bought from the grocery store or some restaurant in the city, as he was pretty sure Tony couldn't cook to save his life, or at least cook anything edible.

They talked about their childhoods, which were very different from each others. Steve had grown up sick and poor, with only Bucky to rely on most of the time. Tony had grown up with rich parents, who, while they might not have been the best of parents, were at least there for most of his life. Tony enjoyed hearing stories about his dad when he was younger, as he had never really known Howard to be the way Steve described. Steve would get him to tell him about anything and everything that Tony was inventing, because he knew that at home the only person Tony had to bounce ideas off of was JARVIS, and sometimes getting ideas out of your head was a good thing. So, even though Steve didn't really know what Tony was talking about, he listened. They carefully avoided the topics that were sensitive to them, and neither pried into anything. Just listened to what the other had to say. It was a good way to pass the afternoon, better than anything Steve had planned for himself. They only stopped when they realized that the sun was slowly starting to sink beneath the horizon.

"I suppose I really should get you home, shouldn't I?" Tony asked with a chuckle as he stood up, brushing dirt off of his pants, then reaching to help Steve stand up. Steve grabbed his hand, pulling himself up effortlessly. Tony held onto his hand for a moment longer than was needed, but Steve pretended not to notice.

"Yeah, probably. I would like to actually get some sleep tonight Tony. I barely got any after you dragged me out partying last night." He shook his head, chuckling.

Tony winced. "Yeah, sorry about that. I get really wild when I'm drunk. I did intend to spend time with you, but that's not the way it went I guess."

Steve just shook his head and started back towards Tony's car.

~~~

Bucky stood in the small bedroom in Steve's apartment, looking around. The room was mostly bare, with only one small desk, a nightstand with a lamp, and then a bed. There was a closet filled with clothes to the left of the bed, and that was it. It was a very simple room, one that Bucky liked. He walked over to the desk, looking at the mess of papers scattered over it. There were drawings of everything, from the city's outline on the horizon, to tiny sketches of the dandelions that grew on the sidewalk outside. There were also a few drawings of people, three repeated in different positions. A woman grinning softly down at something in her hands, traces of red in her hair and lips. A man with wings flying high in the air, silver sunlight glinting off those wings. And the man with the nice facial hair, dressed in a nice suit, drunken laughter showing clearly on his face. Bucky had seen pictures of these people in Steve's living room, so he assumed they were his friends. There were no drawings of him, even though everyone claimed they were friends.

He crouched down, noticing a set of drawers attached to the desk. Opening the top one, he realized why there were no drawings of him on the desk above. Stacked inside the drawer were hundreds of drawings of him, done on all sorts of paper in all sorts of drawing tools. Drawings of a younger Bucky, head thrown back in laughter, or sprawled shirtless across a bed. There were drawings of him in a freshly pressed uniform that had clearly never been worn before then, and then later in a tattered uniform that looked like it had been through hell, though his face remained happy and smiling at someone out of sight. He grabbed a few of the happy drawings, shoving them into his stolen backpack. It was an impulsive move, but he wanted something to remind him that he was once a better, happier person than he was now. Maybe it would help jog his memory, bring back something he had forgotten, which was pretty much everything. He couldn't remember what scenarios these pictures had been drawn after, the events that had taken place before Steve had felt the need to capture it in ink or lead.

He carefully stacked the papers back in the drawer, closing it and then moving to the next on. Inside was just art supplies, though those were running low. Bucky didn't know why, but he made a mental note of what Steve was almost out of. Mostly coloured pencils, though he could probably use some more paper. He closed that drawer, opening the third and final one. Inside were two journals. He picked the top one up, flipping through it quickly. What was written inside was recent, if the dates were something he could go by. Lists of things from this era, maybe things Steve wanted to take a look at. The bottom one, however, was older. These were things that Steve had written when he was younger, and Bucky saw his name written quite a few times, which made him smile a little. He took that little book and added it to his backpack. He would give it a read later, see what it said about him. Maybe with this he could slowly start piecing back together the puzzle of his mind.

Bucky stood up, closing the drawer with his foot and slinging the backpack over his shoulders. He left the apartment, making sure that he had left everything right where it had been, except for the things he had in his bag. Those he would have to return another time. But for now, he would find a new place to live for now and read that journal to see what he could learn from it.


	5. Chapter Four

The second Steve walked into his bedroom he knew someone had been in it. It wasn’t that things had been moved around too much, but there was something off about the whole room. He could feel the offness, almost like a bubble coated the room normally and now it was popped. When he looked closer, he could see that pencils had been shaken out of place on his desk, like someone had bumped it and tried to fix them, but couldn’t quite get them in the right place. The bottom drawer was also slightly ajar, like someone had closed it quickly and it had bumped open again.

Crouching down, Steve opened the bottom drawer, and immediately noticed that the journal from his old life was missing. He frantically tore through the other drawers, hoping maybe he had simply misplaced it, and, when he didn’t find it there, tore through the rest of his room with equal franticness. When he had finished, he collapsed onto his bed. There was nowhere else it could be, he never took it outside this room. Which could only mean one thing, he had been robbed. But by who? Who would was to read the journal of a bedridden, friendless boy? Why not steal the one that belonged to Captain America, the newer one filled with lists and thoughts on a new world and nonsense he was still trying to figure out? Why steal Steve Rogers’ journal when you could have Captain America’s? It made no sense. Unless…

Steve shot up, an idea forming in his head. Could Bucky have come by? Could he have taken the journal, a key to his past? God knows half of those pages are filled with half romantic poems about him and sappy rants and enough transcribed arguments to blow anyone's mind. And what if.. He walked back over to the desk, opening the drawer full of drawings of Bucky, drawings too painful to keep in the open. As he shuffled through them, making note of what was there, he realized that yes, a few were missing. Only three were missing, but it was enough to conclude that maybe it had been Bucky that snuck in. He did have the address, after all. A smile growing on his face, Steve grabbed one of the drawings - a sketch of Bucky sitting shirtless on their bed, head thrown back in laughter - and hugged it to his chest. Maybe this would help. Maybe reading and seeing what their old life had been would jog his memories, make him remember who he was, who him and Steve were to each other. A man can dream right?

 

***

 

Bucky sat cross legged on the dirty floor of an abandoned, half burnt apartment building a couple miles away from where Steve now sat in a familiar position on the clean floor of his apartment. He was staring at the backpack in front of him, the backpack full of old memories and stale bread. The bread was from a bakery that always left their two day old loaves on a shelf in the back, open for the taking for anyone who knew about it. It wasn't much, but it was food in your belly when you needed it. 

For the first time since he broke free of Hydra, Bucky feels calm.

Calm because he knows that this could be it. 

Calm because if he opens that backpack and opens that journal and reads whatever secrets are etched inside he could be himself again. 

But he is also scared. What if the man he used to be is just as bad as the one he is now? What if the vision of him that the world has is fake, made up by a museum so that no one would know that Captain America was friends with a murderer? What if he had always been this brainwashed monster with a metal arm? There was only one way to find out, he concluded. 

With a sigh, Bucky leans forward and pulls the bag towards him. Unzipping it and pulling out the bundle of paper that is the journal and the drawings only takes a few seconds, and then a few more to spread out the pictures and crack open the worn leather that covers the journal. But those few seconds feel like a lifetime, a lifetime that he’s forgotten. But he did it, and his eyes now fall on the scrawl of Steve's name on the front page of the journal, overtop of an address where someone could return the book if it was ever lost. Flipping to the next page, he finds it covered with thin, delicate handwriting cramped all the way to the margins, as though the author had a million things to say but not enough space to write it. The first entry is dated July fifth 1928.

_ Mom got me this journal, said maybe it would be good to write things down. I don't like writing. I want to play outside. Mom said I'm not allowed to because I'm too small and I'll get hurt. Mom is dumb. I want to play. _

Bucky can’t help but laugh at the words of young Steve. He was ten here, if the dates were correct. His birthday was the fourth of July after all. The next entry was almost two years later. He supposed that Steve really did take the ‘no writing’ thing to heart.

_ I met a new friend today. He punched the boys who were punching me. I told him to piss off, that I could’ve taken them. He just laughed and brushed the dust off of me. He said to call him Bucky. That’s a dumb name, but it's better than his real name. James Buchanan Barnes. Much worse than Bucky. I guess I’ll stick with him for now. He seems cool.  _

The sight of his name brings a smile to him chapped lips. Steve had been in rough shape when he had come across him that day. His face was more blood than skin, and his left pinkie finger had been bent so far back that it was broken.

_ I did something stupid. So so stupid. But I couldn’t resist. I know it’s been a while since I wrote in here, four years actually. I don’t know why I stopped. I guess I was too afraid to write down what I was thinking. But I came home today and there was this book, sitting on my desk just waiting there. So, I’m writing. I kissed him. That’s right. HIM. James Buchanan Barnes. Right on the lips. We were walking in the park and we were talking and there was no one else around and we stopped to look at something and I just stood on my tiptoes and I did it. He just stared at me with wide eyes. So I ran. All the way home. I can barely breathe, but I’m not sure if it’s because of my asthma or because I’m going to cry. I just lost my best friend, my only friend. He’s not going to want to be friends with a faggot.  _

Soft lips pressed against his, then wide blue eyes searching his face. A familiar face crumpling just as they turn and run away. Reaching for the small body, but he’s just too quick and Bucky is just too numb. 

_ It’s the middle of the night but I’m wide awake. Why? Because Bucky came by. He didn’t hate me. But he doesn’t want to be friends. He wants to be more! Turns out he feels the same about me as I do for him. We’re not quite sure how we’re going to make it work, but we spend enough time alone that no one will notice any difference. I keep having to pinch myself to reassure myself that this isn’t a dream. But I’m wide awake every time I do, so it must be real.  _

A small room, a small boy, a small voice. Whispers so not to wake up Sarah, sleeping on the other side of those thin walls. A bright smile, a soft laugh, a quick hug. Ducking out the window, following the streets to his house by pure muscle memory, lost in a daze of what just happened. 

Head full of newly recovered memories, Bucky lays down on the hard floor, mind full of nothing but Steve. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being gone for so long! Hopefully I'll be back to updating regularly again.


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